


The Tether

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Petyr's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4452974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re tethered, entwined completely. Perhaps that’s not such a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tether

He’s tethered to her.

A bit dramatic of a phrase, but one that he feels is quite accurate. When they occupy the same space (which happens more and more often these days, as she undertakes the task of managing an absent husband’s affairs on the eve of destruction) he finds himself always circling about, always anxious, never far from her space. His eyes always follow her, eating up her form, the cold perfection that he had taken so long to polish. Long ago he had noted her observance of his hungry gaze, and while at first he was a bit put off at the concept of being so bare now he simply embraced it. She had sullied her hands for him long ago, she would allow him his gazes.

Petyr so rarely left her side these days that it was not exactly unusual for them to pass a night together, in the solar over bottles of wine and reams of parchment. For all intents and purposes their relationship was innocent, educational in nature, though no one who truly knew how to read them would ever say so. Luckily for them they had hardened themselves years ago.

If one could read them one would see the way they coiled about each other, the way the tether grew shorter and shorter, the way they increasingly lived as one. The end result was inevitable, but only to those that  _saw_. Only to those that knew them.

And, in the days that followed the event, Petyr found himself wondering ( _at times, in the dark_ ) if he ever truly saw. If he ever truly knew her.

——

When it happened they had been awake for so long it was the beginning of dawn.

The sky was lightening, taking on a soft gray hue. In truth in winter Petyr found it hard to tell the night from the day, as everything seemed to exist in the shadows. It did not suit him, this drab climate, this dark world, and so he combatted it with more and more colors, until his wardrobe looked like a jewel box. Still, he felt the atmosphere almost fitting for these times with Sansa. Perhaps these moments, these vulnerabilities, were best when cloaked in this soft light.

It did not come out of nothing. They had touched, they had kissed, they had teased. They had danced around a baser pleasure until they did not even need to speak of it. It was simply  _there_ , present always in their minds.

It had become such an integral part to their background that when Sansa took his hand and led him from the solar he did not even remark on it. She did not look back, her head held high, trusting that he followed in her step. It was part of their design.

Her room was warm, the bed piled with furs. Her mouth, her skin, was warmer still. Petyr savored each bit she gave him, lips and fingers laying claim at every inch of skin. She bared herself to him fully and it was more exquisite than anything that lived in the shameful spaces of his mind. She was so pure to look upon and the knowledge of what he had made he do, what he had taught her, only added a paradoxical loveliness to that. She had tainted her Stark honor, for him. She had sharpened herself into a weapon, for him. And now she was opening herself up, for him.

Laid before him on the bed he took a moment to survey the gift she was granting him before he took it. For he knew that when he did she was liable to not remain so pure. His hands would claim, his mouth would bite, and she would wear nothing but his mark for days.

The thought of it, of her unable to sit comfortable in the aftermath, only excited him more. He wrapped himself around her as he had her, pressed her to the bed, took and took and took.

In the end she came first, her body breaking around his in something that was almost defeat. He could feel everything, every jolt and sharp breath, every inelegant thing that he caused. His own release was nothing more than an afterthought, a mindless thing, and that’s when she struck.

He wasn’t sure she intended to. He wasn’t even sure she  _knew_ , though surely the rumors had reached her ears. Her hand slid forward, under his shirt, and came into contact with  _it_.

His eyes snapped over, the shock too great. And in hers he saw a concern, a edge of sentimentality, that he had never hoped to see.

Petyr made his way from the bed as quickly as he could, was down the hall with his name still ringing in his ears, her voice  _pleading_. But he did not go back. It was all too much, the soft-heartedness, the pity, everything he thought he had stripped from her.

In the days that followed the tether grew longer, and longer.


End file.
